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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360409">closet cases</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/giggly__gay/pseuds/spritewrites'>spritewrites (giggly__gay)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Neck Kissing, Play Fighting, Tickle Fights, Tickling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:40:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/giggly__gay/pseuds/spritewrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>let's make out in a supply closet before you have to go to football practice, he says.</p><p>it'll be fun, he says.</p><p>or, simon finds out that baz is ticklish and everything goes south (well, for baz).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>closet cases</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smooth cool of the stone against his shoulder blades nearly steals the breath from Baz’s lungs. Do vampires have lungs? No, wait, bad question. He definitely has lungs. Do vampires need to breathe? Maybe… Based on that time in fifth year that he got the worst cold of his life, he would definitely argue that he needs to breathe. In, like, a court of law. If it ever came up.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re distracted.”</p><p> </p><p>More breaths. “No, I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>Simon’s smile is protagonistically dazzling. Is that a word? Baz would argue that that’s a word.</p><p> </p><p>“You are. You’re doing that thing with your lip.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t do a thing with my lip,” Baz retorts, biting his lip.</p><p> </p><p>“There! That thing,” Simon laughs. “You do that when you’re distracted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.” Baz grabs his boyfriend’s elbows and pulls him in for a kiss, deliciously warm and sweet. One of Simon’s knees knocks against a broom, but he grabs it before it tips all the way over. Their eyes meet, a combination of glee, adrenaline, and anxiety.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re gonna get us caught,” Baz breathes, but Simon’s smile is back, bright as ever. (Baz would spend another year in that smelly numpty coffin for Simon’s smile.)</p><p> </p><p>“Only if I’m not careful,” he replies, stretching up on his toes to press a kiss to the tip of Baz’s nose. “And I’m always careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Baz scoffs. “You’re never careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Simon shrugs, running a gentle hand down the sleeve of his boyfriend’s football uniform. “Your practice doesn’t start for an hour. Nobody’s poking around the supply closet at a time like this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still,” Baz insists, and god, having Simon so close and <em>not</em> kissing him is like torture. “We should make the most of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Simon hums his agreement, taking Baz’s cold hand in his warm one, and finally closes the distance between them again. His lips are so soft, Baz thinks in disbelief. He could kiss them for years and never get over it.</p><p> </p><p>He tucks a hand along the small of Simon’s back, gripping the back of his sweater in a vague attempt to ground himself. Baz can feel the edge of Simon’s mouth quirk up, pleased with this development, and Simon presses his boyfriend further against the back wall of the closet. The cold stone against the back of his neck sends chills down Baz’s spine.</p><p> </p><p>“Pushy,” he breathes into Simon’s hair, and Simon laughs again.</p><p> </p><p>“Self-assured,” he corrects teasingly, and moves to kiss down Baz’s jaw. Okay. Okay, this is okay. When they first started dating, Baz made a personal point of trying to kiss every freckle and mole on Simon’s body (and there’s a <em>lot</em>.) But Simon’s never kissed him anywhere but his face, except maybe his fingers once or twice. Simon hasn’t seemed like the exploratory type. Except…</p><p> </p><p>“This okay?” Simon whispers into his ear, and Baz stifles a shiver.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Okay. Let’s see how this goes.</p><p> </p><p>The kisses, soft and light as a butterfly’s wings, move slowly but steadily down Baz’s jaw, brushing along nearly invisible stubble. Baz closes his eyes, clutching loosely at Simon’s sweater with both hands, until suddenly his grip tightens. Simon’s lips have moved to press against his neck, moving easily down the pale, thin stretch of skin, and <em>oh god</em>, Baz has anticipated a lot of problems, but <em>this</em> was never one of them. He shudders, and the gentle touch pauses.</p><p> </p><p>“Still okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yeah,” Baz manages.</p><p> </p><p>Simon pulls away, brow furrowed. “Doesn’t sound okay. You alright, love?”</p><p> </p><p>Baz takes another breath – yes, he’s absolutely certain he needs them now – and swallows. Something about the combination of the situation and the pet name is making what little blood he has in his face rise to the surface. “Peachy. Just… be careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Simon’s cocky grin is back. “I’m always careful.” With that, his mouth is back on Baz’s skin, and Baz’s fingers are practically woven into the wool on his boyfriend’s back. He tries to steady his breathing, but he feels a wave of goosebumps wash down his arms. Simon’s leaving a trail of kisses down the edge of his throat, and <em>fuck him</em> if that’s not the most adorable but the most unbearable –</p><p> </p><p>“Baz.” Baz opens his eyes. Simon’s expression is unreadable. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Lie? I’m not lying.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re boyfriends. We shouldn’t lie to each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“I…” Baz knits his aristocratic brow together, confused. “But I’m not lying.”</p><p> </p><p>“You absolutely are,” Simon insists stubbornly, and he sounds cross, but there’s something behind his voice that Baz can’t place. “You told me, straight up, that Pitches aren’t ticklish.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck.</em> “I’m not. Er – we’re not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why,” Simon continues, leaning tantalizingly close to Baz’s lips, “do you tense up when I do <em>this</em>?” He ducks into the crook of his boyfriend’s collarbone and plants a series of quick, sloppy kisses that practically set Baz’s skin on fire. Baz gasps, flinching away from the electric sensation – but not before a well-placed brush of skin on skin elicits a strangled noise.</p><p> </p><p>Their eyes meet. Simon’s grin has a new edge to it, something a little further on the wrong side of evil. Baz gulps. <em>And he used to accuse </em>me<em> of plotting.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“You’re ticklish.”</p><p> </p><p>“N—maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>“More than maybe,” Simon teases, taking the back of Baz’s neck in his hands in a move that would normally be followed by a welcomed kiss, but in this case is accompanied by more devious kisses. Baz can feel laughter bubbling in his chest, clawing for release in the back of his throat. <em>Fucking Simon Snow and his stupid cute</em> –</p><p> </p><p>Fingers are prodding at his middle, through his football uniform, and Baz sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Giggles, fucking <em>giggles</em>, are leaking out despite his best efforts. He curls up into the wall, shaking apart with the quietest laughter he can muster.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Shit!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>The addition of teeth was unanticipated, and Baz practically jumps out of his skin. This time the strangled noise sounds more like a squeal. Simon pulls back again, thank god, but his eyes are dancing with mischief.</p><p> </p><p>“The <em>vampire</em> can’t handle a neck bite?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” Baz chokes, but he’s giggling too hard to make more than a token effort to squirm away from Simon’s touches. “You’re g-gonna get us <em>caught</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think <em>you’re</em> gonna get us caught, love,” Simon retorts, and his fingertips brush a spot on Baz’s waist that makes the vampire clap a hand over his mouth to muffle a shriek. “Don’t vampires have superpowers for situations like these? Super strength, and all that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I-I’m nohohot…” Baz’s genius reply is lost to laughter as the fingers that had been dancing around his waist prod more firmly into his stomach. Not being tickled for nearly thirteen years really makes a vampire forget how to defend himself, he thinks. His arms are practically useless, swatting at Simon’s hands with all the strength of limp noodles, and his legs seem to have lost the ability to do anything but shake and lower him slowly to the floor of the supply closet. Cruelly, the tickling follows, digging into his ribs in a way that has Baz falling over himself in shivering, hysterical laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Simon says, casual as anything, as he methodically breaks Baz into tiny pieces, “if I’d found this out when we were still mortal enemies, I think I would’ve been a lot less afraid of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuhuhucking… <em>f-fear this</em>!” Baz growls, gathering enough strength to dig a hand into Simon’s side. With a yelp, Simon Snow, the Mage’s Heir, stumbles backwards, kicks open the closet door, and trips over his own feet to land in a heap in the hallway. He groans, pushing himself up onto his elbows and peering back into the darkness of the closet. Baz is sitting on the ground, leaning against a bucket, holding his stomach and laughing his head off. (Which, upon further thought, would be very dangerous for a vampire.)</p><p> </p><p>“Your <em>f-face</em>,” Baz sputters, unable to determine how much of his laughter is at Simon falling, and how much is just leftover giddiness from the tickle attack. Simon wrinkles his nose, then starts giggling too, punctuated with the little snorts that Baz loves.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you’re <em>ticklish</em>,” Simon repeats, and Baz gives him a little kick in the foot.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>“On your <em>neck</em>, that’s so <em>ironic</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>“Snow,” Baz says calmly. “If you tell anyone about this, even – no, <em>especially</em> Bunce, I’m going to tickle you until you forget your name.”</p><p> </p><p>Simon snickers and pretends to zip his lips closed. “It’s safe with me. It’s going in the box of secret Baz traits with ‘vampire’ and ‘little spoon.’”</p><p> </p><p>Baz rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet, offering his boyfriend a hand up. “You’re lucky I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Love you too,” Simon grins, clasping his wrist with Baz’s and standing up just in time to give the vampire a sneaky pinch to the waist. Baz chokes, startled, and recovers to watch Simon take off cackling down the hall. <em>Crowley</em>, that boy will be the end of him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr: spritewrites</p></blockquote></div></div>
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